July 17th. Made the partition of poles between the john and the woodshed. The chamber is now ready for serious meditation.
A tragedy! Notches in my peas, and some nipped off just above the ground. Three rows of them. I’ll bet that snowshoe rabbit that hopped by the door the other day is the varmint. Probably never tasted peas before in his life. That’s all I need around here—a gourmet rabbit.
July 18th. High clouds moving fast from the south.
Fresh tracks of caribou and five-inch wolf tracks in the gravel not fifty feet from my new cabin. Now wouldn’t that have been a sight?
I built a stove stand and a solid sawbuck while big cotton clouds formed down country.
The droning of a plane—Babe! In he came, to make the first landing at my beach. I helped him back the tail end of the floats to rest on a spruce pole laid along the gravel. Then we tied her fast with a line.
The glue from brother Jake. That spelled progress. Plenty of mail. Still no polyethylene. Well, I’ll just wait it out. Maybe next time it will come.
Babe delivering supplies
Babe spotted my peas. His eyes twinkled. “I like rabbit better than peas anyway,” he said. “Don’t you?” He helped me finish the company dessert, a can of fruit cocktail. Then he was off for Lake Clark.
I spent the rest of the day reading mail and gluing boards and poles. I do believe the cabin is close to livable.
That rabbit really likes peas. He has a rough time of it in the winter, what with lynxes and fox ready to waylay him. I really don’t need the peas. Let him have them.
July 19th. Today started in a very ordinary way, yet it was to be an extraordinary one.
I canoed down to the cabin. It was a good feeling to slide into my beach. I mounted the brackets for the kitchen counter and was just putting the finishing touches on a chair when I heard an unfamiliar sound. I listened and heard it again. Then I really came to life. The sound could be only one thing—wolves howling! They were on the hump. A low deep howl again and then one higher in pitch. The chair would have to wait. I took off up the trail toward my cabin log grove. I should be able to see them from there.
Surely enough, I saw two wolves in an easy lope coming down the trail off the hump and through the scattering of small spruce. Suddenly they vanished. I froze and waited. There they were again, going back up the trail, now walking, now breaking into a slow trot.
Why didn’t I bring my scope? I decided to go back and get it. I flew through heavy brush and timber and had the scope all mounted before they were half- way up the hump. It was a sight: the big one light with dark streaks on his back and sides, dark around his muzzle, the other a fourth smaller and light in shade. They traveled with tails down, long, lanky, and loose with the fur bouncing on their backs. Then there were three—another big one appeared. They stopped to smell a squirrel burrow, and as they did, their tails lifted slowly. I watched them climb up and over the top. After nearly fifty days of labor, it never really entered my mind that I could take a day off. As it turned out, I would today.
Back at the cabin I picked up the saw I had flung to one side in my wild dash to get a look at the wolves, intending to get back to work. I took one last peek through the scope, though, and there no more than 100 yards from where the wolves had climbed was a cow caribou. She was standing with her head down fighting insects. This seemed very strange.
I loaded my camera gear and started up the trail to the hump. Just before reaching the top I saw a reddish object in the low brush ahead. The wolves had made a kill. There were the remains of a young cow. The three wolves had nearly devoured her. All that was left was the backbone part of the rib cage, part of one front shoulder, and most of the neck. The lower part of the head to the top of the eyes was eaten away. The lower jaw bones were stripped clean. Back straps and ribs all cleaned, too. The skin was badly torn and pulled down over the front leg as you would peel back a rubber glove. They had downed her fifty yards up the hill and scattered paunch, skin, and lungs along the trail to where she now lay.
The other caribou was nowhere to be seen. Wondering if I would see the killers again, I followed the trail high above Hope Creek, through patches of wildflowers. Many forget-me-nots, wild geraniums, dwarf fireweed, paintbrush, and wild celery. The breeze was at my back.
As I topped a ridge along a dry wash, a wolf came up from the other side, thirty or forty paces away. It was the light-colored one, staring at me head-on. She whirled and dropped over the edge. I scrambled forward to get a better look. She crossed a rocky slide and stopped on a grassy place to look back, tail down and head high. Then in a wink she was gone.
I walked the trail to the mouth of the big basin below the glacier, and sat down to glass the surrounding country. On a grassy slope was a big brown rock. Sometimes those big brown rocks move. I slipped out of my pack, lay on my stomach, and studied the spot through the lenses. It moved. I saw a bear’s head raise, his muzzle tossing and testing the wind. Maybe I could get some pictures.
By the time I climbed a steep pitch, the bear was digging for squirrels. I watched him chase a squirrel in a big circle. He sprawled on his belly and worked at something held between his forepaws. All the time I was taking pictures. He lumbered down by the noisy stream, up through a willow patch, and bobbed on over the skyline.
The sun was warm and there were no insects about. I nearly fell asleep, thinking about what I had seen this day. I could have killed them all. I thought of the season that would soon open, of the men the season would bring to do just that. Kill, shake hands with the guide, and stand with hands in their pockets while he skins out the hide or saws off the skull and antlers and perhaps a quarter or two of meat, not even bothering to open the carcass. The wolves had done a better job.
While I was away, the rabbit changed his menu. He cleaned half a row of rutabagas. Bet he never tasted them before, either.
July 20th. White frost on the potato leaves. They wilted a bit with the warming of the sun.
On the way back from the hump last evening I packed some meat scraps and the antlers and skull of the wolf-killed caribou. The camp robbers were busy now on the meat scraps. There was something the wolves overlooked. I sawed through the skull to remove the antlers and there it was, the brains. I put them into a pan of salt water to soak and would have them for supper.
Put my table top, counter top, counter lower shelf, and shelf over the door together, using half-inch plugs driven into the holes on the edges of the boards. Each plug was coated with glue.
A surprise—Babe again. He brought a couple gallons of nails, spuds, onions, some fresh head lettuce, bananas, three pairs of pants, and still no polyethylene. I hadn’t expected him so soon. I guess if you learn not to expect much, you won’t be disappointed too often.
After Babe left, the boss hunter made two trips in. Lots of traffic today at Twin Lakes. Must be the forecast of a big season.
This evening the table and shelves are very solid. Mighty good glue.
Supper of caribou brains fried with corn meal, eggs, onions, salt, and pepper in bacon grease. And sourdough biscuits, too. That’s eating high off the caribou.
July 21st. Today will be known as the day of the golden sunrise. Fast-moving fleecy clouds sailing through melted butter. A beautiful sight to watch. I was late having my hotcakes and bacon.
July 22nd. Cloudy and still.
Two months now since I started the cabin. Lots of nailing on the roof poles today. More finish work on the furniture and the cabin interior. Too windy for the roof job in the afternoon.
The Dutch door works as slick as a door on a bank vault. Notice how the wooden hinges crafted from stumps extend like battens over the planks.
July 23rd. Clouds moving at a good rate of speed out of the southeast. A warm breeze.
A day to hang the door. I checked and rechecked my hinges to see that they were in line. I put the door into the opening and fastened the top and bottom hinges. Swings good but squeaks a bit. Some soap will fix that. Now
to fasten number two and three hinges. Number three wasn’t good enough so I pried it off and planed the seating surface. That was about right so I daubed on some glue and nailed it fast. The door works quiet and easy, with all four hinges secure. I could leave it alone or cut it in two for a Dutch door, which I had intended it to be. Let’s cut her in two and see what happens.
I pulled the hinge pins, set the door on edge and sawed it nearly through. Then I put it back, inserted the hinge pins and carefully finished the cut. I swung it back. Happy day! Not perfect but plenty close for rural work. Now I had a Dutch door and a real fancy-looking door at that. With soap on the joints and pins, it is entirely silent. Works just as slick as a door on a bank vault. I must devise a latch for it, not just buttons and hooks like a barn door.
I cut my table legs to length, planed my counter top and shelves, and gave the whole works a coat of varnish. This layout is beginning to take shape.
July 24th. After supper last night I took the casting rod and the fly rod down to Hope Creek. The grayling were feeding greedily, fins and tails swirling all over the surface. A fish snapped the fly from the leader the very first cast. I didn’t have another fly with me so I switched to the casting rod and the battered old Super-Duper lure dangling from the end of it. Wham—a heavy strike in the fast water and the tip hoopled. The fish darted this way and that until I finally slid him onto the stones, a handsome grayling all aglitter with silver, purple, and blue. Seventeen and a quarter inches long, enough for my needs. I watched the grayling feast on what the current brought them. What a sight it would be to put on a wet suit and mask and visit the grayling at their evening banquet down under.
The camp robbers were growing bolder.
Flat calm this morning and high clouds. I gave some thought to the fireplace I was going to make. I had just the log for the mantel all picked out. It was weathered a silver-gray color. I fastened it to the wall with pegs so I can saw them off when I get ready to lay up the rock. That will be an interesting project.
Supper was interrupted by a bear I spotted foraging on the upper Cowgill benches. As I often do, I had taken my binoculars off the hook for an inspection of the slopes and I caught up with the bear, not a big one. He looked like he was wearing a wig. His winter coat was loose, long and dangling from back and sides, and his new dark coat was trying to take over. He pawed over some boulders that bounced down the slope and into the spruce timber. Burned my biscuits and wilted the fireweed salad but it was worth the price.
July 25th. The camp robbers visited early. I dug out some caribou scraps, and one of the birds finally swooped in and grabbed one of them from my fingers.
Blueberry foraging.
I need more storage space in my cabin, something other than cans and boxes, like a closet bureau with doors on the front closing toward each other. I spent the day ripping boards out of logs. I made six hinges out of gas-can tin, then time ran out on me. I will finish it in the morning.
I am nearly moved in now.
Thought I would catch my supper at the creek mouth before heading back to Spike’s cabin. A strike right off, but it got away and must have told every fish in the pool about its narrow escape because I never got another touch.
A warm evening and my sourdoughs puffed up like balloons. Light and heavenly.
July 26th. A good morning to paddle across the lake to my straight-pole patch. When will this pole business end? I need some for my closet bureau and some to hold the moss down on the woodshed roof.
I cut more poles than I needed. Good straight poles are handy to have standing by. Back with the load before nine o’clock, and before long I finished the closet bureau started yesterday. Its shelves will hold lots of clothes. Room for some small odds and ends, too. The doors open out, close together, and stay shut tight with a twist of the wood cleat over their edges.
Now I need a window. With half-inch by half-inch mullions I divided the window frame into nine pane sections. Storm window plastic was then anchored fast with masking tape on the outside of the muttons. Handiwrap was similarly taped on the inside and the air was trapped between the layers. Presto—a poor man’s thermopane.
July 27th. How clear it is through my big window! All of a sudden the cabin has more character.
I climbed the hump and filled a can with blueberries. They are at their best with raindrops on them, but I enjoyed them sugared for dessert this evening.
Just before I broke out of the timber, I startled a mother spruce grouse with about six youngsters the size of quail. Such a hurtling in all directions! She stayed on the ground, however, pussyfooting on the carpet of moss and making low clucking sounds without opening her bill at all. Her throat feathers swelled as the low sounds came out.
I spotted a little one balancing on a bough. As I approached, it squatted nervously, stretched its neck down below the level of its body, wobbled its head, teetered, crouched lower, and stretched higher as if to say, “Hey, Ma, what do I do now?” I backed away to avoid further confusion of the family.
July 28th. My camp robber friend appeared at breakfast and stole a snip of bacon right out of my plate as I sat in the doorway.
I must say I really like my window.
I took a charcoal stick and sketched the fireplace chimney on the logs, then cut a big piece of cardboard to the pitch of the roof and set it up on top. I was pleased with how a chimney would look, and the moss on the roof will improve the whole effect even more. Inside I tacked more cardboard under the log mantel and drew a fireplace on it.
I nailed the molding in tight around my window and plugged the cracks in the door with oakum. Then I chinked the toilet end of the woodshed and packed in some gravel from the beach to cover the floor.
Tomorrow I will make a latch for my Dutch door.
July 29th. The wind rattled through the trees last night, and the lake was noisy. Clouds coming from the southeast this morning, a mile a minute.
Ready to construct my super door latch. I would use a wooden disc with a lug on one side to engage in the door casing, and a shaft squared to take the handles.
Now I needed a lock. Any old housedog of a bear could push the handle down and open the door. I augered a hole through the door, a third of its diameter, cutting a notch in the wooden disc. When the door handle was turned it engaged the disc and the door was locked. I would like to see a bear try to figure it out, but I suppose he would just solve the problem by wiping the door clean from the wooden hinges.
A wild lake all day. Whitecaps chasing each other.
July 30th. Last evening I went blueberrying on the Cowgill benches. I found a good patch, and when the can was nearly full, I noticed a movement across the creek. Something yellow and brown—a big bear and not 200 yards away. While watching him, I instinctively turned around to see if maybe something was watching me.
He was picking berries and really giving a demonstration, his big head swinging this way and that and bobbing up and down at the same time. Leaves and berries were being stripped off with that long tongue. I finished filling my can, then eased over to the edge of the creek bank and sat down for a closer look. A breeze coming from him to me and the noise of the creek made the seat perfect. I watched him eat his way into a grove of cottonwoods on the steep side of the canyon. It was after ten o’clock when I dropped down off the bench and walked through the spruce timber with bears on my mind.
A tin bending day. Made a water bucket, a wash pan, a dishpan, a flour pan, and storage cans. My cabin kitchen is shaping up.
July 31st. The last day of July and I don’t believe I saw new snow during the entire month.
Today would be the day to set up the stove and do some more tin bending. I dug the stove out of a corner of Spike’s cabin. When I saw the old relic in good light, I almost chickened out of the project. It was the sorriest looking stove I ever saw. A half-inch gap along the sides under the top, one door hinge unstuck. I packed it down through the brush and put it on my stove stand. Then I put up my new stovepipe and made r
eady to touch it off.
First I packed a bucket of small rocks to put under the grate, then gravel to fill the grate. It would take a long time to get ashes enough to hold a fire. I stuffed in some shavings and some chips and struck a match. The flames grew out along the sides under the top and I thought, “This will never do”. And then the smoke found the smoke stack and my troubles were over. In spite of its looks it did a fine job heating water. I was pleasantly surprised. Now to make it look professional I would need a Chinese hat for the top of the chimney pipe, so I got busy with tools and tin and had one on in short order.
Found a way to get paper and stickum off a gas can. Boil it in hot soapy water. The label is on to stay, but it can’t stand that treatment.
I needed a big wooden spoon to dip hotcake batter onto the griddle. One spoonful, one hotcake. In the woodpile I found scraps of stump wood that looked suitable. It took no more than an hour to turn out a good-looking spoon. I must make a wooden bowl or two later on.
Cool breeze and the insects are no problem today.
Tomorrow is the big day. I will load all my remaining gear into the canoe and paddle down to my new home. A calm sea will help for this voyage.
August 1st. The lake dead calm. A perfect moving day. A camp robber, visiting me for breakfast, came inside. I wonder what his range is? Will he find me at the new cabin?
I worked clockwise around Spike’s cabin, set out everything that I wanted to go, and packed it down to the beach. Then I cleaned up the cabin that had been home, scrubbed the counter, the shelf, and the woodwork of the stove stand. I glanced at Spike’s sign and was satisfied I had complied. Everything in order and better than I found it.
I loaded the canoe and paddled down to my new quarters. Everything found its place and there was lots of room for everything, not a cluttered look at all. Some items to make, such as a knife holder to fasten on the wall.
One Man's Wilderness, 50th Anniversary Edition Page 7